Tell the Truth, Molly
by Liathwen
Summary: Molly Hooper is miserable and it is all Sherlock Holmes' fault. When she accidentally drunk texts him, instead of her fiancee, Tom, what follows will either kill or cure her. Spoilers for Season 3 Ep 1 (Originally published on AO3.)
1. Miserable Molly

Molly giggled uncontrollably as she slammed her shot glass down on the wooden bar, the whiskey pleasantly burning the back of her throat.

"Five!" She shouted triumphantly over the blaring music in the dimly lit bar. "Top that!" She added to the blonde woman on the bar stool next to her when the look on Mary's face was hesitant at best. Mary frowned at the petite pathologist over her own shot, held in midair, then gulped it down quickly, making a face and plunking the glass down next to Molly's.

"Maybe we should slow down!" She said loudly, slurring her words slightly. Molly fell into another fit of giggles as she nodded her assent.

She was a happy drunk, which was the main reason she had begged for Mary to join her for a girl's night out. Lately, she hadn't been her normal, cheerful self.

Correction, she hadn't been her normal, cheerful self when she was alone. Around everyone else, she smiled happily, as if she hadn't a care in the world. Especially around her fiancee, Tom, who apparently couldn't read her very well because he hadn't noticed anything amiss.

The source of her unhappiness, and small bit of guilt, was none other than her longtime crush on Sherlock Holmes, who had recently returned from the dead and taken up residence in Baker Street once again. Molly knew the whole time, of course, that he wasn't really dead, a fact which irritated John Watson to no end, though, fortunately for Molly, most of his ire was reserved for Sherlock.

While Sherlock was gone those two years, Molly tried to move on. She began lying to herself that she was over her unrequited love for the arrogant git. The longer he was away, the easier it became to say to herself that she was ready to move on and forget about Mr. Perfect Cheekbones. Oh those cheekbones. She knew, deep down, that she would never really get over him but she also knew that even when, or if, he did return, Sherlock would continue to treat her as he always had. The thought of him showing up and passionately declaring his love for Molly was absurd. He didn't do sentiment.

That is how Molly found herself allowing a friend to set her up on a date.

Tom was nice and quiet and thoughtful. Nothing like Sherlock.

He was tall, with dark hair and pale skin, with a perchance for wearing nice clothes and long coats. Just like Sherlock.

Before she could doubt herself, Molly said yes to a second date with Tom. Then another. And another. And before long, they were in a relationship. He was sweet and attentive to her. He was only slightly grossed out by her job. He tolerated Toby.

Molly valiantly attempted to convince herself that Tom was the perfect man for her. He probably was.

Unfortunately, Tom wasn't the man Molly dreamt about at night. Tom didn't make her blush and stutter when he looked at her. He didn't turn her into a hot, wet mess with his voice. He wasn't who she thought about late at night with her hands between her legs and it wasn't his name she said when she reached her peak. And that made Molly very guilty indeed. It wasn't that Tom was bad in bed. He just didn't have the effect on her that Sherlock had. The sad fact was that Molly got more turned on by Sherlock simply entering the room and saying her name than by anything Tom had ever done to her.

Molly had pushed all these thoughts to the back of her mind though because Tom was there and he wanted her. Sherlock never would. So when Tom proposed, looking adorably nervous, Molly accepted with hardly a moment's hesitation.

Then, the git came back.

And every supressed desire Molly had for him came rushing forward.

She should be blissfully happy with her fiancee. Instead, she was once again daydreaming about an unattainable, arrogant arse. She tried very hard to ignore his presence back at the morgue but the moment he summoned her to Baker Street, she rushed over, against her better judgement, giddy with the thought that he wanted her around. Of course, as she discovered, it was only to replace John, who still wasn't speaking to Sherlock, but she still felt a bit of pride that he chose her.

They spent the day interviewing potential cases until Detective Inspector Lestrade called and asked Sherlock to take a look at a scene that had the Yard baffled. Sherlock was brilliant as usual and even allowed Molly to examine the skeleton without showing any indication of impatience with her. If she didn't know any better, Molly would have called that Sherlock's version of a date.

Then, as they left, there was "the talk." That is what Molly labeled it in her head. She could only describe his behavior as odd. Not that he wasn't a bit odd usually, but it almost seemed as if his little speech was Sherlock trying to convince himself to let Molly go. Which was absolutely ridiculous, Molly chided herself, because he had never shown any interest in her to begin with. His statement, "The one person he thought didn't matter at all to me, was the one person who mattered the most," bewildered her, as did the gentle kiss he pressed to her cheek before quickly striding off down the street.

All these thoughts drove Molly to plead with Mary to accompany her to the bar and she now found herself pushing away her miserable state of mind in favor of getting absolutely pissed.

"Another!" She demanded happily of the bartender as he paused in front of the ladies.

"Sure thing, luv." He replied and winked at her cheekily. Molly felt her cheeks heat with a blush.

"Oh no!" Mary interrupted before he could walk away to get the shots. "No more shots for you. Two waters, please." The man glanced from face to face, Mary's determined and Molly's resigned. She nodded meekly and soon they each had a tall, cold glass of ice water in front of them. Molly took a sip then smiled devilishly as a thought occurred to her. She fumbled for her clutch a drew out her mobile, grinning mischievously at the blonde before pulling up her messages. She selected the top one without looking and began to type.

"I think our men could use a good tease before we leave here for the night, don't you?" She winked at Mary who smiled knowingly and pulled out her own phone.

This turn of events agreed with Mary quite well, as it meant that John would probably get impatient and come looking for her so she wouldn't have to admit to needing him to come retrieve her drunken self. She shot off a suggestive message and returned her attention to Molly whose brow was furrowed in concentration as she peered drunkenly at the tiny keyboard of her own phone.

Molly sent off her message and plopped her phone down on the counter, took a large swig of the water and ordered a couple pints. She was determined to forget about Sherlock at least for one night and shag her sweet, if boring, fiancee silly. Like the ghastly American song playing in the background, it was going to be a good night.


	2. The Unsuspecting Sherlock

Sherlock glanced at the time on the laptop, 1:14 a.m., before reaching for his phone. The chime of an incoming message had stirred him from his intent research. He opened the message without looking and when he did begin to read it, Sherlock nearly dropped his phone in shock. There, on the display, was a rather suggestive text from none other than his pathologist, Molly Hooper. Sherlock took a moment to gather his thoughts.

It wasn't often that he was caught off guard but this was definitely one of those times. He had been expecting a message from Lestrade about a new case or maybe from John who was waiting on Mary to get home from her night out... Her night out with Molly.

Oh. Oh! Sherlock shook his head, suddenly irritated. Stupid, stupid, he chided himself. The message wasn't intended for him. It was meant for that buffoon of a fiancee Molly had. Tim? Tom. That was it. Obviously, Molly meant to send this provocative message to her boring fiancee and accidentally sent it to Sherlock instead. Looking up at the previous message from her, some lab results that afternoon, he deduced that, in her drunken state, Molly had simply chosen the most recent recipient of a message from her to send this one to, assuming it was Tom.

Sherlock tossed his phone on the couch with a resigned sigh before flopping back in his chair. He rubbed his face, thinking of the petite little brunette sitting in a bar somewhere. He glanced at his phone again and an idea formed in his head. Everyone knew that Molly wasn't really over her feelings for him. Hell, Tom could be his brother, though Sherlock wasn't sure if having him for a brother would be more or less annoying than having Mycroft. And Sherlock could finally admit to himself that he did have some feelings for Molly as well. He would have acted on him the day he spent with her but unfortunately, she was already spoken for. So what if he messaged her back and got her to admit that she was still in love with him and not Tom? Maybe he could get his pathologist back! With a look a pure glee on his face, Sherlock jumped up and snatched his phone from the couch.

Now, what to say, what to say? What would Tom say? No, let's not think about that. Let's just try to reply like any normal person would. He read the message again.

**Hey baby, guess what I'm thinking about. I'll give you a hint. It involves you, me, and bed. -M**

Sherlock chuckled. Even when trying to be seductive, Molly was a bit awkward. Not unlike myself, he thought.

He thought carefully about his reply. It couldn't be too over the top to begin with. He risked shocking her into reading it more carefully, thus discovering who it was from. And Sherlock didn't plan on her realizing who she was actually speaking to until he was good and ready for her to notice.

He decided that sarcasm was his best bet at the moment.

**Sleep?**

He chuckled, thinking about the look that would undoubtably be on her face when she read that. The look of pure exasperation he had seen many times when she had to explain something for the millionth time to one of the interns.

**Mmmm, guess again. -M**

Sherlock once again, weighed his words before typing his reply.

**Would it have anything to do with me touching you?**

**Now you're catching on. -M**

His breath caught as he thought of doing exactly that. Touching her smooth, soft skin. First, her hands. Her tiny little hands that held a scapel with so much skill. Then, her arms, slim, but strong from sawing through bone. Then, her neck. He would place a kiss on the small hollow of her throat before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her not too small lips gently. And he needed to stop his mind from wandering because his trousers were suddenly uncomfortably tight.

**Where do you want me to touch you?**

**Everywhere. -M**

**Oh good, I thought you were going to be vague.**

He waited for her reply, wondering what the hell he was doing. This could go very badly. Or it could be fantastic. There was no way of knowing for sure and Sherlock HATED not knowing something.

**Hmm, I want you to kiss me. I want you to run your fingers over the small of my back and hold me close and snog me silly. -M**

Once again, Sherlock caught his breath. Well, she certainly is bold. I didn't expect that. He threw caution to the wind and decided to just go for it.

**And after I snog the breath out of you? What then?**

**Then, I think you should busy yourself getting rid of some of my clothes. -M**

**Just yours?**

**No, yours too. I want to touch you. Your chest, your back. I want you to kiss me so hard I have to cling to you to keep from melting into a puddle on the floor. -M**

Sherlock laughed at this.

**Oh baby, I'll make you melt.**

**Tell me how. -M**

He sucked in a breath. All or nothing now. He cleared his throat and began to type furiously.

**I'm going to snog you until we both are gasping for breath then I'm going to kiss your neck and shoulders, can I mark you? I want everyone to know you are mine. I'm going to slowly unbutton your shirt and kiss your chest and belly every time I open a button.**

He stopped and sent that message then started another to let her absorb it piece by piece.

**I'm going to take your bra off and suck each of your sweet nipples and tease them until you beg me for more. Then, I'm going to touch you through your knickers. Will you be wet for me?**

He paused and waited for a reply after sending that message. He was anxious that she would come to her senses and see who she was talking to and be furious with him.

**Oh God. I'm already wet for you. Please, mark me, leave love bites all over my neck. I'm all yours. -M**

He felt a burning jealousy at that last sentence. She was telling Tom that and everyone knew that it just wasn't true. Mine, Sherlock thought fiercely. He would do whatever it took to make her see that she belonged with him.

**I want to touch you. I want to feel your readiness for me. I'm going to lay you down on the bed and bury my tongue in you. I want to taste your desire for me. Only me. Do you want that? Do you want me to taste you? I can make you scream my name.**

Sherlock was well on his way to being fully hard thinking about the things he wanted to do to his pathologist. His Molly. Transport be damned, he wanted her with a passion he hadn't felt before. And he fully intended to have her if at all possible.

**Fuck yes, I want you to taste me. Make me scream so loud all my neighbors can hear it. I don't care. I am going to suck your cock too. I want you to fuck my mouth and moan my name. I want to bring you to the edge before you enter me. -M**

Oh yeah, Sherlock was definitely hard now. His cock strained against his trousers and he shifted, trying to alieviate the discomfort without touching himself. He planned to save that for Molly.

**I'm going to shag you into a screaming, quivering mess. I want to fuck you so hard we both forget everything but each other. I want to make you come with my cock deep inside of you. Do you want that?**

**Oh yes, please! -M**

**I'm coming to get you.**

Sherlock threw on his Belstaff, thankful that it hid his throbbing cock from view and ran downstairs to hail a cab. He hopped in and checked his latest message.

**I'm waiting. -M**

You've been waiting a long time, Sherlock thought with a smug grin. Hopefully, this was the night that wait came to an end. For both of them.


	3. Surprise, Surprise

Molly was pissed. Very pissed. In fact, she didn't think she had been this drunk since college. Early college at that. Later years were too packed with exams and clinicals to have room for partying.

She glanced at her phone. It had been almost 20 minutes since she sent her last text message but she was still just as turned on as she was then. She felt a tinge of guilt though. Even though she was sexting with her fiancee, she had been imagining a very different person replying to her. It wasn't the thought of Tom doing all those things to her body that had her on edge. It was Sherlock that she was picturing in her mind. She shook her head slightly, smiling at whatever Mary was saying, (or trying to say, Mary was just as drunk as Molly,) but not processing a word she said. Mentally, she berated herself.

Molly Hooper, you are supposed to be getting pissed to forget about Sherlock! Then you can go to Tom's flat and shag him silly. She stamped down the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that the shagging someone silly part would be a lot better with Sherlock. Just the thought of those hands on her body...

No. No! I will not do this tonight. Tonight I am going to think about nothing and no one but my fiancee. She sighed audibly, glancing quickly at Mary to see if she noticed (the woman was in her own world, chattering away) then took another sip of her beer. She looked up towards the door and saw John Watson searching the crowd for his fiancee, Mary. Molly gave a slight wave and smiled drunkenly at him as he made his way over to the two women.

It wasn't until he was next to them that Molly saw HIM.

Sherlock.

Right behind John.

Molly groaned, resisting the urge to put her head in her hands and cry. Why? WHY?! All I'm trying to do is get drunk and fuck my fiancee into next week and he has to show up and ruin it. Now I won't be able to think of anything besides how yummy he looks in that purple shirt, my favorite, all night!

She plastered a big, fake smile on her face and greeted the men, albeit sounding a bit inebriated. She was doing better than Mary though, who, it appeared, was busy trying to suck her fiancee's tongue out.

Molly grimaced. She had never been one for public displays of affection, especially not the kind that could feasibly gross other people out. She flushed at the wayward thought that maybe she could get over that barrier if Sherlock was the one she was snogging.

Molly kept her head slightly down, not wanting to look up at the tall, silent man next to her but soon it became a necessity when Mary and John showed no signs of slowing down. At this rate, they wouldn't make it to their home fully clothed. Molly choked on her beer at that and felt a large hand gently pat her on the back. She tensed and the hand quickly moved away. She wanted to grab it and put it back but she refrained, knowing that Sherlock didn't do feelings and definitely didn't have any for her. She took another small sip of beer, keeping her eyes down, but then Sherlock reached over and took the glass from her hands.

"Don't you think that's enough for one night?" He murmured, his low baritone voice sending shivers down her spine. She finally dared to look up at in just in time to see Sherlock take a drink from her glass, putting his lips right where the faint trace of her lipstick graced the side. Molly turned a bright shade of red and blinked rapidly at him. Sherlock smirked and took another drink before placing the glass back on the bar. "Come on," he said with a slight smile as he extended his hand to her. "Let's get you home."

Molly's mouth dropped open and she nervously looked to Mary for help but found none. As she was distracted by Sherlock, John and Mary had made their escape, no doubt anxious to get home and finish what they had begun there at the bar.

Molly cleared her throat worriedly, and muttered, "Can't sorry, waiting for Tom." She stared down at her hands, waiting for Sherlock to turn and leave without another word. After a moment's pause where he didn't move or speak, she looked up at him, her eyes wide as she took in his expression. She could only describe it was part worried and part hopeful but mostly contrite. In her drunken state, it took her a little while to put two and two together but when she did, there was a look of horror etched on her face.

"Oh my God, I sent those messages to you, didn't I?" She hid her face in her hands.

Sherlock stood perfectly still, waiting for Molly to react to the fact that she had basically sent out a booty call and he just happened to be the lucky recipient. Through her fingers, she watched his face, trying to read what he was thinking but she eventually gave up and sighed heavily. Then, a thought occured to her.

"Wait, if you knew that I was attempting to sext-" she blushed and fingered the buttons on her blouse as she said this, "-my fiancee, then why did you answer me like that?"Her eyes widened and watered a little. "This isn't some sort of experiment, is it? Please tell me it isn't that, Sherlock."

He hurriedly shook his head, dark curls getting mussed in the process.

"Of course this isn't an experiment Molly. Do you really think I would do something like that to you? Especially when..." he trailed off, gazing into her eyes helplessly.

Now, Molly was confused. She tried to think of a logical explanation for the expression on Sherlock's face and cursed the alcohol when her foggy brain came up with nothing.

"Especially when what?"

"Especially when I've fallen in love with you after you have moved off with some idiot who everyone knows is just a replacement for your longstanding affection for me!" He burst out, immediately covering his mouth with one hand after. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that. Shit."

Molly stared at him, startled. She had to admit though, hearing that curse word come from his usually proper mouth set her on fire. Mmmm, what other things could that mouth do? No, stop it, Molly!

"So what you are telling me is that you responded to my sexts in an attempt to show me that you want me?" The alcohol was definitely making her more bold in her deductions. She watched his face carefully for any signs of a lie as he formulated his reply.

"Simply put, yes." He paused and took a deep breath. "I want you to know Molly, I want you in every way. Not just that way. Though that would be nice too." He was flushed now, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks and nose. Molly thought it was adorable. "I am a selfish man, Molly Hooper. I want you all to myself."

Reality dove in, drowning Molly's libido in one fell swoop. She was technically still engaged to Tom.

"Sherlock, I'm engaged."

"I know. Leave him. Please. I want you to be mine. I'll do anything it takes to prove that to you."

Molly didn't reply, so many thoughts running through her intoxicated mind it made her dizzy. Could I just leave Tom like that? It really isn't fair to either of us for me to stay though because I'm lying to him and to myself and I really am still in love with Sherlock. You know, I should just go home and think about all this in the morning when I have a clear head.

"I should go home and sleep off this alcohol." Molly ignored the disappointed and somewhat confused look on Sherlock's face and waited for a reply but none seemed to be forthcoming.

After another moment's silence from him, she climbed clumsily off the stool. She wobbled and Sherlock reached out to steady her, clasping his hands around her waist. Molly's head jerked up in surprise. Then, in an act she could only blame on all the alcohol, she reached up and clasped her hands around his neck and stood on her tippy toes and proceeded to snog Sherlock Holmes silly. He didn't respond for a beat but suddenly he began to reciprocate. His touch was rough, almost desperate as he returned her kiss and they broke away gasping for breath after a short time. Sherlock pulled impatiently on Molly's hand and started leading her towards the door of the bar and out onto the street where he hailed a cab and gave her address.


	4. The Talk

Sherlock was worried. He kept his face cool and neutral during the never ending cab ride back to Molly's flat, but his mind churned and he almost felt he was going to be sick from the anxiety.

He had declared his intentions to Molly, assuming that she would throw herself into his arms and her reaction was to say that she should go sleep off the alcohol. And Sherlock could see that the shock of him showing up and his subsequent statements had sobered her up quite well. So she was stalling. But why?

Sherlock knew, hell everyone knew, that Molly had been in love with him for ages. Up until the fall, he had pushed aside any feelings that might have surfaced for her, favoring cold detachment. He had, however, felt the odd compulsion to keep Molly single too, leading to Sherlock's humiliating deductions about every man Molly became attached to. It was jealousy that caused him to lash out at her at that awful Christmas party and the aftermath, his identifying The Woman by her body instead of her face, made him sick to his stomach because he knew what Molly would be forced to assume. He had hidden his feelings well, and that should please him, but now it was just a hindrance. He had to prove to her that he did care about her and that he did genuinely want to be with her.

Frankly, it scared Sherlock how much he wanted to be with Molly. At the most random moments, he thought about life with her. He imagined coming home to her after cases and cuddling with her in the bed, gently whispering the details of his day in her ear while he trailed his long fingers over the soft skin of her stomach. He found himself wondering what she would be like when she was pregnant with his child (he had to remember to ask her if she wanted children but he was fairly certain she did and would be a fantastic mother.) Would she have cravings? Would she be glowing or tired? And alarmingly often, he pictured laying her down in the bed and sinking into her, proving his love for her in the most primal way. He told John time and again that the body was just transport for the mind. He applied everything he had to his work and while it did help him keep his focus, it wasn't very satisfying. Especially when he worked in the lab or had to see a body in the morgue. Molly would pass by and he would smell her unique scent, no heavy perfumes, just light, clean Molly with a bit of chemical fragrance thrown in, (odd how much that turned him on) and instantly his body would begin to betray him.

So he cut her down, made rude comments about her sweet, little lips and tried his best to ignore her. If he didn't, Sherlock knew that he would grab her, toss her up onto a table and snog the breath out of her. So when he asked for her help planning for his confrontation with Moriarty, he gave no hint as to the depth of his feeling for her. His Pathologist, his Molly.

And then he came back from the dead and she had gone an attached herself to that IDIOT, Tom, who was just a cheap imitation of himself. He burned with jealousy thinking that Molly had allowed that imbecile to touch her, kiss her, hold her just like Sherlock dreamed of doing.

Coming out of his thoughts, Sherlock risked a peep at Molly, who had been uncharacteristically silent the entire ride. Her face was a mixture of confusion and guilt, her brow furrowed in concentration as she ran through the events of the evening, trying to make sense of what was happening. Impulsively, Sherlock reached over and took her hand, startling her out of her mind.

"You're thinking so loud I can almost hear you, Molly."

He watched as she chewed her lip nervously, not meeting his eyes. They arrived at her flat and she climbed out of the back of the cab hurriedly. Sherlock paid the driver and exited after her, silently following her up to her door and waiting as she fumbled with her keys for a moment. He placed a hand on the small of her back and murmured reassuringly.

"Relax, it's ok. I just want to talk to you."

There was a look of relief in her eyes, followed by a fleeting glimpse of disappointment then another of guilt. Sherlock knew the war Molly was waging in her mind. One part of her wanted to be loyal to her fiancee because she thought it was the right thing to do. The other part of her wanted to drag Sherlock into her bedroom and shag the life out of him. Sherlock knew which he preferred but the tricky part would be getting her to choose the same thing.

An idea formed in his head as he entered her modest flat and noticed a half full bottle of whiskey on the table. Sherlock knew that Molly was almost completely sober now, having slacked off the alcohol when she began texting him almost two hours ago. And unfortunately that would hinder her from answering him truthfully. Her sense of duty would keep her from saying what she really wanted to. He shucked off his coat and unwound the scarf from around his neck, pretending not to notice when Molly's mouth dropped open at the sight of his bare neck. Striding into the kitchen, Sherlock selected two glass tumblers are filled them halfway with the whiskey. Capping the bottle, he handed one to Molly, who was watching him carefully. She accepted the glass but didn't drink any. Sherlock seated himself on the couch, gesturing for Molly to do the same. She hesitated a moment, obviously deciding whether to sit across from him, in the chair, or next to him on the couch. She finally chose the couch and sat with her legs tucked under her, half facing him. She took a tiny sip of the drink and remained silent, waiting for Sherlock to speak. He gulped a bit of the liquid down and cleared his throat to rid himself of the burn before facing her.

"Molly, we need to talk."

She rolled her eyes at him and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh really? I had no idea."

Sherlock was taken by surprise. It wasn't often that the tiny woman said anything even remotely snarky. At least to him. She sighed.

"Sorry Sherlock. I'm just very confused and coming off being very drunk. My tolerance for anything and everything is a little low right now."

Sherlock merely nodded and took another swig of his whiskey. Molly took the hint and also drank.

"Molly, I understand that it is hard for you to comprehend that I feel you for after how I have treated you in the past. Let me assure you, however that I only treated you so coldly to keep my own feelings for you hidden." He studied her face carefully as he spoke. "I wasn't lying when I said that you mattered the most to me. I can only be grateful now that Moriarty didn't see how much I cared for you or I almost certainly would have lost you." He paused at that, noting that Molly took a large gulp of the whiskey when he said it and nearly choked. After a moment's hesitation, he continued.

"Molly, it isn't easy for me to express sentiment. I always assumed that it was associated with weakness. After seeing how you helped me and how much strength your sentiment for me gave you, I came to the conclusion that it wasn't the evil I considered it to be. While I was gone, I thought of you every day. Every single day, Molly. I had updates from Mycroft on your well being but he never mentioned your... attachment." Sherlock spat the last word out like it had a bitter taste.

"When I returned, I wanted to tell you how much I missed you. How much I wanted you to be with me. So I asked you to come to Baker Street. I didn't really have a plan, I just wanted to spend time with you. And you were brilliant as always. I noticed the ring right away but wanted you to stay so I didn't mention it. I was so distracted all day by my jealousy. I couldn't concentrate at the fake crime scene it was so bad. When I congratulated you, I was sincere. I want you to be happy." Here Sherlock paused and thought very carefully about his next words.

"Molly. You aren't happy. Tom doesn't make you happy and it is obvious to anyone who really takes the time to look. You deserve to be happy though and if you would let me, I'd like very much to try to give you that happiness. I want you. Not just for the night, or the week or this year but forever." Molly gasped, staring at him with wide eyes and pale, trembling lips. He vaguely noted that her glass was empty but she continued to be silent. Sherlock was in misery, waiting for her to say something, anything. When the silence became too much for him, he set his glass onto the table and leaned close to her, wrapping her in his arms. She cuddled into him, with her head on his chest and sighed heavily.


	5. An Inevitable Course of Events

Molly's buzz was back after downing the contents of her whiskey glass rather quickly as Sherlock spoke. She cuddled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, hearing his heartbeat and steady breathing. After a couple minutes though, she pulled away slightly and turned to him, frowning in frustration. Her grasp of the situation was slight, at best.

Sherlock told me that he wants me but what does that mean exactly? That he wants me to continue being the way I have always been for him? Bringing him coffee and stuttering every time I see him? Though frankly, that was probably going to continue no matter the outcome of this conversation. But living for those little compliments that I know aren't genuine and are only given when he needed something that he could only get from me? The only time I have ever seen a completely honest Sherlock was the night he said I counted. Molly pushed that thought to the back of her mind, lest the floodgates should open. Even though she had known he was alive, she hadn't gotten any information from Mycroft while Sherlock was gone so she had suffered more than anyone else. The not knowing if she was lying or not when she reassured John time and again that Sherlock was, in fact, dead, hurt her immensely.

So Molly was very confused.

On the one hand, Sherlock treated her as he always had. Distant, aloof and only deigning to speak with her when she was useful. On the other, Sherlock had taken her on his own version of a date, asked her to go to dinner with him, (granted, just fish and chips but it was more than showing up with a couple packets of crisps like he had in the past,) and now was saying that he wanted her.

Sherlock Holmes wanted her.

Molly Hooper.

Molly from the morgue.

And oh, how I want him. Just sitting next to him had her blood heated and her skin crawling with goose bumps. And that kiss. Molly licked her lips unconsciously, trying to taste him again. She instinctively rubbed her thighs together, trying to relieve the ache that was once again flaring between her legs. Oh hell and those messages! She thought back over what he said he wanted to do to her body and just like that her desire rocketed of out of control. Molly jumped and bit her tongue to keep from letting out a shriek when she felt Sherlock's hand on her thigh, just above her knee. The smug look on his showed that he knew what exactly she had been thinking about.

"Molly, you went from severely agitated to twitching in 3.2 seconds. Obviously, you were thinking about something sexual in nature. Given the current situation, I can only conclude that you thought of one of two things. The text messages or the kiss. Or perhaps both."

He turned to face her with intent in his eyes and Molly let out a small gasp before his lips suddenly covered hers. Oh God, oh God, oh God, he is kissing me again!

Sherlock pulled back and frowned. Belatedly, Molly realized that she had frozen when he kissed her and hadn't returned it. She swiftly grabbed the collar on his shirt and pulled his mouth back down to hers. Their lips crashed together.

It was graceless.

It was sloppy.

It was perfect.

Molly melted. This is so wrong. This is so right. Tom is going to be heartbroken. I'm going to regret this is the morning. I don't care.

She dropped her glass on the floor and climbed into Sherlock's lap, not breaking the kiss. She curled her hands around his slender neck and tangled her fingers in his dark curls. Mmm, how long have I wanted to do this? Tugging gently, Molly smiled against Sherlock's lips as she heard a muffled groan come from him.

They both pulled back, gasping for breath and she examined his face. Sherlock's cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen and red, and his pupils so blown that it was almost impossible to see the blue-green irises. Molly wondered if she looked as gone as he did.

Suddenly, Sherlock pulled her legs around waist and grabbed her hips, lifting her up smoothly as he stood from the couch. He leaned in for another kiss and began to walk towards her bedroom. Oh, that's hot. No one has ever done that to me. Molly was so wet it was embarrassing. Really. But she had wanted Sherlock for years and he knew it so, what the hell?

Molly felt her back hit the cold surface of her bedroom door and Sherlock's lips press down on her neck, sucking a dark spot into the base of her throat. Well, he DID say he wanted to mark me. Molly smiled slightly and gasped as he nipped her gently with his teeth. His cool fingers skimmed across the skin of her lower back under the fabric of her shirt. He pulled back and gazed into her brown eyes earnestly.

"Molly, I can't promise you that I won't say horrible things every now and then. I can't promise I'll remember important days. I won't stop taking cases and getting into too much trouble for my own , and John's, good. I most likely won't eat with you often and sometimes I won't be home by bedtime. But if you can get past all that, I can promise you one thing. Molly Hooper, I will always love you."

Molly grinned widely, with tears in her eyes and replied, "It's ok, Sherlock. I know who I fell in love with and I wouldn't change a thing about you." She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and he returned it with fervor. It deepened until he drew away suddenly, with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

"Now, Dr. Hooper, I would very much to act out some or all of those delightful text messages I received from you earlier."

Even my title sounds sexy in his voice... and oh shit, that feels good! Molly's body gave an involuntary jerk as Sherlock's thumb began to slowly circle her clit through her trousers.

"Well, Molly?"

No sooner had she nodded her assent, giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl, than Molly found herself flat on her back in her bed with Sherlock hovering over her, kissing every spot of exposed skin on her body. He sucked on the spot on her neck again, darkening it, then tracing the outline with his finger.

"I want everyone to know you are mine Molly. So this will have to do until I can get you a ring." His brow wrinkled. "Speaking of which," he reached for her hand and pulled off the ring Tom had given her, tossing it onto her night table, "I don't think you'll be needing that anymore.

Sherlock moved down her body and placed his hands on either side of Molly's waist, fingers just under her shirt. He lay on top of her legs and slowly inched it up, kissing, licking and nipping the skin as it was revealed. She reached the bottom edge of her bra and pushed the shirt over it. Molly had a temporary moment of panic, trying to remember which bra and knickers she was wearing, and was relieved when he smiled delightedly at her simple white lace bra. Molly liked symmetry, so her knickers were the same. She mentally sighed, grateful her underwear appeared to his liking.

Molly gasped and moaned softly as Sherlock leaned down and mouthed one nipple through the fabric of the bra. He hummed appreciatively against her as her nipples hardened under his ministrations. Raising up, he pulled her shirt over her head and off, and her bra followed suit. He didn't even bother unclasping it. He attacked her nipples again, teasing one with his tongue and teeth and the other with his long, elegant fingers. Molly arched her back, pushing her breasts up to his mouth and he moved the hand down to her trousers and unbuttoned them to reach inside. A loud moan escaped her as his questing fingers slipped into her very wet cunt.

"Oh Molly, you are already so wet for me."

She shivered at his words, the dirty talk doing wonderful things to her state of arousal. She could feel his hard length pressed to her thigh and decided to take charge. She rolled over suddenly and took him with her, ending up straddling his hips. She ground against him, relishing his groan of approval. Leaning down, she sucked gently on his exposed collarbone and began working the buttons on that fantastic purple shirt loose. As each button was undone, she bent and kissed the spot on his chest where it had been. She worked her way down his torso and ended at the top of his trousers. Grinning wickedly, she released the button and zip and reached inside to stroke him. Sherlock gasped as her tiny hand curled around his throbbing cock, stroking gently. He bucked up into her hand, wanting, needing more. Molly smiled and motioned for him to lift his hips and he eagerly complied, allowing her to slip his trousers and pants down his legs in one go. Looking up at him through her lashes, Molly leaned over and licked a line from the base to the tip of him, taking the tip into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. Sherlock positively growled as she began to suck him in earnest, bobbing her head up and down, taking in as much of him as possible. Large hands tangled in her hair and he thrust up into her mouth slightly, careful not to hurt her. She reached down to cup his bollocks and felt his hands move to her shoulders and pull her off. They were both panting heavily.

Sherlock eyed her with lust and flipped them over again, quickly moving down to between her thighs and pulled her trousers and knickers off before growling out, "My turn," and diving into her, his tongue working in the soaking folds of her pussy. Molly cried out, he back arching off the bed. She automatically grabbed at his curls, anchoring her hands to him. He continued to lick her, from her clit down and back up. He probed at her entrance and slipped one finger, then two inside of her. Sherlock moved them in and out of her rhythmically and Molly could feel her body begin to tighten. A layer of sweat covered her body and her back arched then she feel apart spectacularly as he sucked on her clit. Holy shit, so good.

"So good, Sherlock!" She half screamed, half moaned the last bit. He grinned up at her and climbed back her body to pull her in for a bruising kiss. Breaking to breathe, Molly whispered in Sherlock's ear.

"Sherlock, fuck me hard and fast. Make me scream your name." His head shot up and he growled at her.

"Condom?"

"Bedside drawer."

He reached over and pulled a packet from the drawer, ripping the foil and rolling it onto his length, before plunging into her to the hilt in one stroke. She cried out with pleasure and he instantly began a brutal, pounding rhythm. He slammed into her over and over, the headboard hitting the wall and rattling the picture frames on it. Before long, Molly was screaming out in ecstasy.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock! Yes! Oh God!" His hips slapped against the backs of her thighs, making an erotic sound and Sherlock grunted,

"Fuck Molly. God you feel so good. So wet for me."

Molly neared her peak again and screamed out what was meant to be his name again but came out as a jumbled mess as she fell over the precipice. A few strokes later and Sherlock followed, shouting her name into the crook of her neck. He collapsed on top of her, both of them sweaty and panting. Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock and held him for a moment before he gently pressed a kiss to her cheek and rolled off of her, disposing of the condom in the trash bin. He climbed back over to her and pulled her close, her back to his front and held her as she fell asleep.


	6. And, Break

Molly awoke to an empty bed.

She smiled and stretched, remembering the events of the previous night. After a moment though, she stilled. The flat was quiet. Too quiet for another person to be there. Throwing the duvet back in a panic, she jumped out of bed and ran out of her bedroom. Frantically throwing open every door in the flat, Molly searched for Sherlock, even looking in the laundry room. Finally, she sank to the floor, her eyes watering. Not even a note.

Stupid, STUPID, Molly. How do you like that? Sherlock got what he wanted from you and now he's gone. You just let him lie to you and flatter you just like he always has. You're so desperate, you swallowed it hook, line and sinker. Stupid, stupid girl! Oh God, and Tom. Sherlock ruined that too. You can't stay with him now. You've got to tell him what happened and break it off before you do something else ridiculously stupid and hurt yourself and him even more.

Despairing, she laid on the floor and sobbed into her arms.

Molly, stayed on her floor the majority of the morning, alternating between raging anger, guilt and feeling both sad and worthless. She put off speaking to Tom until late afternoon, praying to every god she could think of (including Zeus at some point) that Sherlock would come waltzing back through the door with fish and chips and laugh at her for being silly. The door, however, stayed stubbornly shut. Finally, she dragged herself to the laundry room, avoiding her bedroom like the plague, and dressed without even looking at what she was putting on.

"What the heck happened to you baby?"

Tom stared down at a very disheveled Molly. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and her hair was in disarray. Guilt was written all over her pale face and she nervously plucked at the edge of her jumper with definitely didn't match her pants or shoes.

"Tom, I need to talk to you."

He regarded her silently for a moment then stood back from the door to let her in. She followed him into his flat and sat on the couch across from him. Taking a deep breath, she started to speak but Tom held up a hand to stop her.

"Let me guess. You came to tell me that you can't marry me because you are still in love with Sherlock Holmes and it wouldn't be fair to either one of us to go through with this."

Molly gaped at him for a moment before taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"Yes and no. Tom, you are right. I AM still in love with Sherlock Holmes and it wouldn't be fair for me to marry you knowing that. However, there is more. Last night, he told me he loved me. Then stayed the night."

Here, she paused and chose her next words with care.

"This morning, when I woke up, he was gone. He tricked me and I was enough of an idiot to fall for it. I shouldn't have done it but I did and now I have to pay the consequences for it."

She kept her face as neutral as she could, but there was still some pain visible. Tom stared at her in shock. Minutes passed and neither said a word. Molly slipped the ring off of her finger and set in down gently on the coffee table. She stood to go and was surprised when Tom reached out to grab her hand. He held it for a second, staring at it.

"Molly. I know how much you loved him. I could see it when you looked at him. You never had that look in your eyes when you looked at me."

She gazed down at him, the pain now very apparent on her face but he never moved his glare from their hands.

"No one deserves what he did to you. Especially not you. You are the sweetest girl I have ever met. I wish that I could have been enough for you but I know I won't ever be that man. But Molly, if I ever see Sherlock Holmes again, I will not be held accountable for my actions. On my behalf and on yours."

Molly had tears in her eyes now and could only nod down at him before wiping her eyes and walking quickly to the door.

Once home, Molly couldn't sit still. Soon, she was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floors and rearranging the cabinets. She continued to avoid her bedroom, not even opening the door, not wanting to look at her bed and have to remember Sherlock's hands on her body and his lips on hers. Not that staying out of the bedroom was helping with that much. She bit her lip until it bled, grasping at the physical pain to take her mind off the scars on her heart. She scrubbed, mopped and dusted late until her hands were red and raw and her knees were bleeding from crawling around on the floor. Dawn came and she kept going, not wanting to face having to go to bed. Afternoon arrived and still, she kept going.

The last thing she remembered was scouring the baseboards in the bathroom with a toothbrush before she passed out from exhaustion.


	7. Fix This Mess

Sherlock pulled the spare key out of his pocket, balancing the take-away chinese in one hand. He fiddled with the lock for a second and then pushed the door open with his foot. He entered the flat grinning like fool and waltzed into the kitchen, depositing the food onto the counter. It was then that it hit him. It was far too quiet. And it smelled different. Furrowing his brow, he sniffed the air.

Hmmm... disinfectant. Lemon smell. Clean kitchen. Clean everything. Very very clean. Immaculate. Someone, no Molly, scrubbed this place within an inch of its life. Why? Molly cleans when she is upset. This flat hasn't been this clean since after we faked my death.

He quickly pushed that unwelcome memory away.

He glanced around, looking for some sign of the tiny woman. Heading to the bedroom, he opened the door and stuck his head inside.

Uh oh.

The bedroom exactly as it was when he left the previous morning. It took him merely seconds to deduce what had happened and he went tearing through the flat, searching for Molly. He found her sprawled out on the floor of the bathroom with a toothbrush in her hand and a bucket of soapy water next to her head. He glanced over her, noticing how her knees and fingernails were scabbed with dried blood. He mentally berated himself for his carelessness. He shouldn't have taken the case, no he should have taken it but should have made sure that she knew where he was. Obviously, she hadn't found the note he left on top of the covers on his side of the bed. Reviewing the room in his mind, he realized that she had thrown the duvet back and covered the note, then hadn't gone back in the room since.

Sherlock leaned down and scooped Molly up in his arms and started to carry her to the bedroom. She sleepily wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned on his chest, breathing deeply. He lay her down onto the bed, curling up next to her, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she slept. His stomach growled and he remembered the food in the kitchen but made no move to get up. Sherlock was going to be there the next time Molly Hooper awoke.

Molly blinked sleepily up at the ceiling. She slowly became aware of a warm weight pressing against her side. She turned her head and saw a sleeping Sherlock laying next to her. Molly Hooper was not a violent girl. But she certainly felt murderous right now.

"What the HELL are you doing here?!"

Sherlock jumped awake, blinking owlishly and tightened his grip on her waist.

"Molly? What...?"

"You left me! Without a word! Do you have any idea what I went through? What do you have to say for yourself?!"

Molly crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a hard line, and waited for a reply.

Sherlock blinked again, still half asleep and reached onto the night table, feeling around until his fingers closed on a scrap of folded paper that he silently handed to her.

**Molly, got a case. be back when it is done. by the way, need fingers for experiment. -sherlock**

She read it several times, not saying a word. Finally, she looked up, meeting his eyes. His expression was a mixture of sleepiness and trepidation. She refolded the note and handed it back to him.

"Where was it?"

"On top of the covers on my side of the bed. When you woke up, you threw the duvet back and covered it up."

She merely nodded, not replying.

"Molly, why did you think I left you?"

Long pause.

"Well Sherlock, that night was very out of character for you. I mean, different from the way I am used to you treating me. I just assumed you were using me and once you got what you wanted you were gone."

Sherlock sighed and pulled Molly into his arms.

"Molly. Do you really think that badly of me?"

It didn't take a consulting detective to deduce that he was very hurt by her lack of faith in him.

"No! I don't think badly of you."

He gave her a perplexed glance.

"I think that way of myself. That I'm not enough for you. That I'm not interesting enough or pretty enough or intelligent enough to hold your attention."

Molly looked down at her hands with a defeated expression. His hand moved to her chin and pulled her up to meet his gaze.

"Molly, I'm in love with you. You are the sweetest, most selfless woman I have ever met. You are beautiful and brilliant. I don't deserve you at all."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Let me show you how much I love you Molly. Please."

She hesitated a moment, searching his face for any sign of a lie but found only open honesty and a bit of vulnerability in his eyes. She nodded her assent and he kissed her again, this time more passionately, his tongue parting her lips and slipping into her mouth. She returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, relishing the feel of his arms around her.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes.

"Molly, I'll never give you a cause to doubt me again."

With that, he drew her in again, kissing first her lips, then working his way down her jawline to her throat. He kissed the mark he left previously and nipped it lightly. Molly gasped at the feel of his teeth on her neck and moved into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing her warm center down onto his hardening cock. Sherlock groaned and pulled her shirt and bra strap to the side, kissing her shoulder and bucking up into her gently.

Suddenly, he rolled over, covering her body with his and worked her shirt over her head. He moved down her body and latched onto a nipple through the fabric of her bra. Molly's hands threaded through his curls and she arched her back up with a moan, pushing her breast further into his mouth. He worked his jaw, sucking and licking until both nipples were taunt and erect. He unclipped her bra and she pulled it off. Sherlock wanted to take his time but the need was rising. He slipped a hand into her trousers and rubbed her through her knickers. He could feel how wet she already was and groaned in appreciation. He tapped her lightly on the hip and she lifted up to allow him to pull off her trousers and knickers in one go. Sherlock grabbed a condom and then stripped as fast as he could, anxious to be inside her. He pulled on the condom and hovered over her. Molly wrapped her small hand around his length and positioned him at her wet entrance. Slowly, gently, he pushed into her.

This time was very different from the first. Sherlock made love to Molly, thrusting at a steady pace and kissing every inch of her body that he could reach. They held each other close and whispered words of encouragement and love. After a while, Sherlock sped up, feeling Molly begin to tighten around him. She came with a low cry of his name and he followed after just a few more thrusts. He rolled off of her and disposed of the condom then came back to hold her, stroking her cheek.

"Molly, you are the only woman I have ever loved. And I'm absolutely positive that I won't ever stop loving you."

She smiled softly at him and kissed him gently on the lips.

"You know I've been in love with you for years. That isn't going to change."

He smiled and laid his head down on her thinking that answering her text was the best idea he ever had.


End file.
